


The Letters

by MulaSaWala



Series: Omegaverses [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, Happy Ending, I swear, I'm not even resisting anymore, Lighter than it sounds, M/M, PTSD Bear, PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, There will be mentions of war, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulaSaWala/pseuds/MulaSaWala
Summary: They  were all he had, the letters. This war was killing him, faster than the Russian soldiers were. There was nothing but confusion and death out here, and he was sick of it. He just wanted to go home. Live out the rest of his days far, far from these generals who paid for won ground with the lives of their soldiers, like they were so much chattel.He wanted to go home and finally be with the love of his life.Jessica.---Harold felt a strange mixture of panic and unbridled relief. John Reese was coming home.Relief, mostly, because the man would finally be safe. That was the most important part. It would have been the only part, if Harold hadn't gone and done somethingstupid.Like fall in love with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think I finally understand why romance novels have titles like this. it's like, the longer the work is planned to be, the shorter the titles get. :P
> 
> P.S. We don't really see a lot about Jessica in the series, which I think was intentional on the part of the writers? Anyway, I don't know why I felt like having this as a disclaimer, but I wanted to say that I think my Jessica is pretty far from canon Jessica?

 

_Eight Months Earlier_

 

 

"There's a dog?" Harold asked.

 

They were sitting in the parlour, Harold and Jessica. They'd grown up together, though Jessica was a few years younger, and the scene was a common one. They'd spent many past afternoons the same way, quietly reading their correspondence together.

Today, Jessica was reading a letter from her suitor, Captain John Reese. It wasn't exactly proper, for an alpha to correspond with an unmarried female beta, but it wasn't improper enough to merit any discipline or punishment. Just vague disapproval.

 

"Really, Harold," Jessica stuck her tongue out at him before going back to reading the letter. "You care more for the dog than Captain Reese."

 

"Captain Reese has the concern of every unmarried beta and omega from here in Stony Cross to London. Mine won't make much of a difference, Jess." Harold replied. "And I'm sure he's fine. He's been promoted to captain, has he not? Surely they don't just send high ranking officers into danger willy-nilly."

 

It was one of the things about this war that sat uneasily with Harold, among other things. He read the papers, he wasn't ignorant of politics, but he still couldn't figure out the _reason_ for this war. Why anyone should be sending soldiers anywhere to begin with. And the War Office's incompetence wasn't helping

 

"The dog?" Harold prompted again, after a moment.

 

Jessica sighed and just held out the letter. Harold recoiled from it like, well, not a snake, because he quite liked snakes, like it was on fire? "Why don't you read it for yourself?"

 

"But, Jess," protested Harold, "What if he wrote something personal?"

 

"I wish," Jessica grumbled as she picked up another letter. She had a lot of letters from a lot of admirers. Harold's own letters, while similarly plentiful, were from what Harold liked to refer to as his colleagues; people of all dynamics who had similar interests: astronomy, biology, mathematics and the like.

 

"The dog is the most interesting bit. The rest is battles and bad news, Harold, terribly dull. "

 

"It's war, Jess. There probably isn't much else there, aside from that."

 

"It's a good thing he's coming back soon, then."

 

"Oh? How do you know?"

 

"The war will be over before winter." Jessica chewed on her bottom lip. "At least that's what my parents say."

 

Harold didn't think so, not with the harsh Russian winters coming, not to mention the lack of planning from the War Office. But he kept that to himself. "How's your family, by the way?"

 

"They're fine." A teasing light entered Jessica's eyes. "But they don't quite approve of me corresponding with an unmarried alpha. How's yours? I bet they wouldn't care if you wrote to a hundred unmarried alphas."

 

"Very well, if you must know. And I'm sure a hundred alphas suddenly interested in natural history would quite revolutionize the field!"

 

They both laughed.

 

 _Wouldn't_ _care_ wasn't the term Harold would have used, but he understood her point. His family was different, and that was putting it kindly. The Ingrams were comprised of Nathan, followed by Harold, then lastly Samantha (who insisted everyone call her Root). After the death of their parents, Nathan had inherited obscene wealth and a title from an extremely ditant relative, so distant none of them had known he'd existed.

Nathan had inherited a viscountcy, for which none of them had been prepared, least of all Nathan. They'd had to move to the Ingram Estate some six years prior, and they managed to blend in well enough, but for the fact that, well, they were peculiar people in truth.

Nathan was probably off in parliament raising hell and doing who knows what right now (Harold knew, and approved with extreme prejudice), while Root was off gallivanting across the globe. Harold was almost dull, in comparison, for all that he seemed to live a host of lives to his different colleagues: Harold the Chemist, Harold the Astronomer, Harold the Philosopher. He spent any time he wasn't writing outdoors, collecting injured animals and rehabilitating them. To be honest, this made him less than popular to other members of the academic world, who preferred to let nature take its course, but Harold couldn't be bothered.

Their family was a stark contrast to the Reeses, certainly. They were almost storybook in their perfection. The parents, the Earl Conor and his wife Margaret, and their two children, both alphas. The elder, Sophie, was in line to inherit the estate and the title. Married to her omega wife Grace.

John was, well, the spare to the heir. Harold had met him only twice. The first was at a dance, where Harold got the distinct impression that he was good-looking, yes, but arrogant because he knew it. The second was at a picnic, where Harold had overheard him say to a friend that it was good, that Harold preferred birds and books to people, because he belonged in the aviary and the library, but not polite company. Harold had avoided him after that.

Lord Conor had bought John an army commission, as often happened to second alphas, and he had been splendid at holding the cavalry colors during parades.

 

Until this war.

 

As far as Harold had heard, John Reese had been one of the few chosen for the Rifle Brigade, an unusual brand of officer trained to use their own initiative to capture ground. Due to his skill, he'd been promoted to captain, and Harold hoped that meant he was out of the direct line of fire.

 

"Read it, and then let's go for a walk."

 

Harold gave in, both to his friend and his curiosity. He would skim through until he found the part about the dog; no need to compromise the man's privacy.

 

>  
> 
> _Dear Jessica,_
> 
> _Crimea is a cold and unforgiving place. I wish I had better things to write about it; you deserve tales of beautiful lands, a countryside filled with rolling hills and blooming flowers. Instead, I have a dusty tent and the sound of gunfire._
> 
> _I think of you constantly. How your hand would hold this letter, the scent of perfume on your wrist. I want that with you, silence and clear air, a soft pillow to rest my head..._
> 
>  
> 
>  

"This is _dull_ to you?" Harold asked incredulously. 

 

"It only gets worse, I promise."

 

 

> _...Two days ago in our march down the coast to Sebastopol, we fought the Russians at the Alma River. I'm told it was a victory for our side._
> 
> _It doesn't feel like one._
> 
> _We've lost at least two thirds of our regiment's officers, and a quarter of the noncommissioned soldiers. Yesterday we dug graves. They call the final tally of dead and wounded the "butcher's bill." Three hundred and sixty dead so far, and more as soldiers succumb to their wounds.  
>  _
> 
> _One of the fallen, Captain Brighton, brought a shepherd named Bear, who is undoubtedly the most badly behaved canine in existence. After Brighton was lowered into the ground, the dog sat by his grave and_  
>  whined for hours, and tried to bite anyone who came near. I made the  
>  mistake of offering him a portion of a biscuit, and now the benighted  
>  creature follows me everywhere. At this moment he is sitting in my tent, staring at me with half-crazed eyes. The whining rarely stops. Whenever I get near, he tries to sink his teeth into my arm. I want to shoot him, but I'm too tired of killing.
> 
> _Families are grieving for the lives I've taken. Sons, brothers, fathers._  
>  I've earned a place in hell for the things I've done, and the war's barely  
>  started. I'm changing, and not for the better. The man you knew is gone for good, and I fear you may not like his replacement nearly so well.
> 
> _The smell of death, Jess . . . it's everywhere._
> 
> _The battlefield is strewn with pieces of bodies, clothes, soles of boots.  
>  Imagine an explosion that could tear the soles from your shoes. They say that after a battle, wildlflowers are more abundant the next season--the ground is so churned and torn, it gives the new seeds room to take root. I want to grieve, but there is no place for it. No time. I have to put the feelings away somewhere. _
> 
> _Is there still some peaceful place in the world? Please write to me.  
>  Tell me about some bit of needlework you're working on, or your favorite song. Is it raining in Stony Cross? Have the leaves begun to change color?_
> 
>   
>  _Yours,_  
>  _John Reese_

 

 

Harold finished the letter with an odd feeling of compassion in his chest. Had this letter really come from John Reese?

 

Jess watched him put the letter down, sighing. "I'm torn. On one hand, it does sound terrible, over there. But I'm afraid my heart has been won by another." She waved a letter from Peter Arndt.

 

Harold pursed his lips. "That seems rather cold-hearted, don't you think? A few lines of comfort wouldn't be amiss, and it would take no time at all. And about the dog--"

 

"I know!" Jessica chirped. "Why don't _you_ write to him?"

 

"Me?" Harold's eyebrows shot up. "He doesn't want to hear from me, he thinks I'm peculiar."

 

"You're not, and he's wrong." Jessica said firmly, "But if it would make you feel better, sign my name."

 

Harold couldn't believe he was considering this. "The handwriting will be different, Jess. He'd know."

 

"I haven't written anything back yet, of course he won't."

 

"But I hardly know anything about him. He's _your_ suitor."

 

"Not my only one. And you probably know more about him than I do. Aren't you friends with his sister-in-law?"

 

Jessica waved her hand, as if she was shooing away his concerns like a fly. Harold didn't like it one bit.

 

"Just write something cheerful, Harold. Keep it impersonal, if that would make you more comfortable, but I think we can both agree that he could use some cheering up."

 

It would have been so easy for Harold to say no. He was going to say no. No, he wasn't going to write the letter.

But he couldn't get the image out of his head. Hands raw from digging graves for his comrades, a soldier scribbling the heartfelt letter in the questionable privacy of his tent, a dog whimpering in the corner as gunfire sounded.

It was hard to imagine John Reese as such. He'd been such an elegant alpha, kind enough, Harold supposed, always held his aura held tightly in check, but spoiled beyond belief. What was it like for him now? The Ingrams had been poor, before, so Harold knew hardship, but what must John make of the hunger? The fear?

 

Harold felt his resolve crumble.

 

\---

 

 

 

> _Dear John,_
> 
>   
>  _I have been reading the reports about the battle of the Alma._  
>  _According to the account by Mr. Russell of the Times, you and two-thirds of the Rifle Brigade went ahead of the Coldstream Guards, and shot several enemy officers, thereby disordering their columns. Mr. Russell also remarked in admiration that the Rifles never retreated or even bobbed their heads when the bullets came flying._
> 
> _While I share his esteem, dear sir, I wish to advise that in my opinion  
>  it would not detract from your bravery to bob your head when being shot at. Duck, dodge, sidestep, or preferably hide behind a rock. I promise I won't think the less of you!_
> 
> _Is Bear still with you? Still biting? According to my friend Harold, the dog is overstimulated and afraid. As dogs are wolves at heart and require a leader, you must establish dominance over him. Whenever he tries to bite you, take his entire muzzle in your hand, apply light pressure, and tell him "no" in a firm voice._
> 
> _My favorite song is "Over the Hills and Far Away." It rained in  
>  Hampshire yesterday, a soft autumn storm that brought down hardly any leaves. The dahlias are no longer in stem, and frost has withered the chrysanthemums, but the air smells divine, like old leaves and wet bark, and ripe apples. Have you ever noticed that each month has its own smell? May and October are the nicest-smelling months, in my opinion._
> 
> _You ask if there is a peaceful place in the world, and I regret to say  
>  that it is not so in Stony Cross. Recently Ms. Iris Campbell's donkey escaped from his stall, raced down the road, and somehow found his way into an enclosed pasture. Mr. Tyrell Evan's prized mare was innocently grazing when the ill-bred seducer had his way with her. Now it appears the mare has conceived, and a feud is raging between Mr. Evans, who demands financial compensation, and Ms. Campbell, who insists that had the pasture fencing been in better repair, the clandestine meeting would never have occurred. Worse still, it has been suggested that the mare is a shameless lightskirt and did not try nearly hard enough to preserve her virtue._
> 
> _Do you really think you've earned a place in hell? . . . I don't believe_  
>  _in hell, at least not in the afterlife. I think hell is brought about by man right here on earth. You say the gentleman I knew has been replaced. How I wish I could offer better comfort than to say that no matter how you have changed, you will be welcomed when you return. Do what you must. If it helps you to endure, put the feelings away for now, and lock the door. Perhaps someday we'll air them out together._
> 
> _Sincerely,  
>  Jessica_
> 
>  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In block quotes, the letters, are almost copy-pasted from the actual book. :P
> 
> also, Belgian Malinois dogs are often mistaken for German Shepherds, and since in this fic Reese isn't well versed in military dogs (because who was in the 1800's?), he basically writes that the dog Bear looks like a German Shepherd.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another pair of copypasta letters :P I'm sorry good readers, but I am trash. 
> 
> I basically just changed the names and pronouns. I hope to get farther into the actual story soon. 
> 
> Also, i don't know Jessica's maiden name, so I looked up Arndt. Arndt is short for Arnold, but Jessica Arnold sounded weird to me, and too similar to Arndt, so I made it Reynolds :D

 

 

> _Ms. Jessica Reynolds_  
>  _Stony Cross_  
>    
>    
>  _Dear Jessica,_
> 
> _Regardless of the reports that describe the British soldier as unflinching, I assure you that when riflemen are under fire, we most certainly duck, bob, and run for cover. Per your advice, I have added a sidestep and a dodge to my repertoire, with excellent results. To my mind, the old fable has been disproved: there are times in life when one definitely wants to be the hare, not the tortoise._
> 
> _We fought at the southern port of Balaklava on the twenty-fourth of October. Light Brigade was ordered to charge directly into a battery of Russian guns for no comprehensible reason. Five cavalry regiments were mowed down without support. Two hundred men and nearly four hundred horses lost in twenty minutes. More fighting on the fifth of November, at Inkerman._
> 
> _We went to rescue soldiers stranded on the field before the Russians could reach them. Bear went out with me under a storm of shot and shell, and helped to identify the wounded so we could carry them out of range of the guns. My closest friend in the regiment was killed. Please thank your friend Harold for his advice about Bear. His biting is less frequent, and he never goes for me, although he's taken a few nips at visitors to the tent._
> 
> _May and October, the best-smelling months? I'll make a case for December: evergreen, frost, wood smoke, cinnamon. As for your favorite song . . . were you aware that "Over the Hills and Far Away" is the official music of the Rifle Brigade?_
> 
> _It seems nearly everyone here has fallen prey to some kind of illness except for me. I've had no symptoms of cholera nor any of the other diseases that have swept through both divisions. I feel I should at least feign some kind of digestive problem for the sake of decency._
> 
> _Regarding the donkey feud: while I have sympathy for Evans and his mare of easy virtue, I feel compelled to point out that the birth of a mule is not at all a bad outcome. Mules are more surefooted than horses, generally healthier, and best of all, they have very expressive ears. And they're not unduly stubborn, as long they're managed well. If you wonder at my apparent fondness for mules, I should probably explain that as a boy, I had a pet mule named Hector, after the mule mentioned in the Iliad._
> 
> _I wouldn't presume to ask you to wait for me, Jess, but I will ask that you write to me again. I've read your last letter more times than I can count. Somehow you're more real to me now, two thousand miles away, than you ever were before._
> 
>   
>  _Ever yours,_  
>  _John_  
>  _P.S. Sketch of Bear included_
> 
> __

 

 

\---

 

 

 

> _Captain John Reese_  
>  _1st Battalion Rifle Brigade_  
>  _Home Ridge Camp_  
>  _Inkerman, Crimea_  
>    
>  _Dear John,_
> 
> _This morning I read that more than two thousand of our men were killed in a recent battle. One Rifle officer was said to have been bayoneted. It wasn't you, was it? Are you injured? I'm so afraid for you. And I'm so sorry that your friend was killed._
> 
> _We are decorating for the holidays, hanging holly and mistletoe. I am enclosing a Christmas card done by a local artist. Note the tassel and string at the bottom--when you pull it, the merrymaking gentlemen on thel eft will quaff their goblets of wine. ("Quaff" is such an odd word, isn't it?--but it's one of my favorites.)_
> 
> _I love the old familiar carols. I love the sameness of every Christmas._  
>  _I love eating the plum pudding even though I don't really like plum pudding._  
>  _There is comfort in ritual, isn't there?_
> 
> _Bear looks like a lovely dog, perhaps not outwardly a gentleman, but inside a loyal and soulful fellow._
> 
> _I worry that something's happened to you. I hope you are safe. I light a candle for you on the tree every night._
> 
> _Please, answer me as soon as you're able._
> 
>   
>  _Sincerely,_  
>  _Jessica_  
>  _P.S. I share your affection for mules. Very unpretentious creatures who never boast of their ancestry. One wishes certain people would be a bit more mulish in that regard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Source for the sketch of Bear, I just found it on google image search, and I didn't remove the watermarks or anything 
> 
> here's a link to it!  
> https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/%D1%8D%D1%81%D0%BA%D0%B8%D0%B7-%D0%BD%D0%B5%D0%BC%D0%B5%D1%86%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%B9-%D0%BE%D0%B2%D1%87%D0%B0%D1%80%D0%BA%D0%B8-48141570.jpg

**Author's Note:**

> Harold's love of birds (and all animals, probably) won out in this one. It's pretty hard to give him an outlet when computers haven't been invented yet. :P
> 
> This fic is based on Love in the Afternoon by Lisa Kleypas. She really is one of my favorite authors in the romance novel genre, and I plan on doing another work of hers soon.


End file.
